An Eye for an Eye
by Janet2
Summary: An insignificant incident has far reaching effects for Steve.
1. Default Chapter

**_An Eye for an Eye_**

**__**

_Prologue – 18 months ago_

_"Aw, c'mon, Jess," Steve grumbled as he set about clearing the debris from Bob's numerous tables, "I have just finished three months undercover, I have ten days off and all I want to do is relax."_

_"Working with your hands can be very relaxing," Jesses coaxed, "Think of the satisfaction in creating furniture from planks of wood, nails and a hammer."_

_"Think of the backache, the blisters and the earache," Steve retorted._

_It took a moment for Steve's final words to penetrate Jesse's brain and then he said, "Earache?"_

_"From listening to you extolling the virtues of 'working with your hands'," Steve responded, shouldering the kitchen door open before disappearing through it._

_"Fine." muttered Jesse, turning away in disappointment, "Don't worry about **all** the extra shifts I've worked over the last three months. Don't worry about **all** the times that I have stared death in the face. I can manage to make a bookcase on my own."_

_Steve's voice sounded in his ear, causing Jesse to jump at least six inches into the air, "Don't worry, Jess, I won't."_

_"Aw, Steve, c'mon," Jesse pleaded in an unconscious echo of his friend, "It'll only take a few hours. I have everything ready."_

_Steve Sloan was a man with an extremely strong personality, but even he wilted under Jesse's infamous 'little boy lost' look. He sighed, "Okay, Jess, I give in. Tell me when and I'll show up."_

_ Two days later_

_'So," said Steve, standing on the deck of Jesse's brand new house, "what do you want me to do?"_

_True to his word, Jesse did have everything planned and very soon the two friends were hard at work. Several hours later, Jesse stood back and admired their handiwork._

_"I think we can be very proud of our labours today, Steve," he said, looking over his shoulder at his friend who was clearing away the tools. _

_"We sure can, Jess," he replied, "and, much as it goes against all my principles, I have to admit that you were right. I do feel relaxed."_

_Never one to let a moment go past, Jesse grinned, "Told ya!"_

_As he turned to help with the clearing up, Jesse didn't see the one nail that Steve had missed and, as he stepped on it, his ankle twisted and he fell forward catching his friend off balance. Instead of being able to stop his friend from falling, he too found himself crashing towards the floor. _

_"Damn, that hurt!" exclaimed Jesse, as he sat up rubbing his elbow._

_When he received no answer from Steve, Jesse looked around at his friend and was horrified to see him lying, unmoving on the floor, blood trickling from his left temple. _

_¬¬¬¬¬¬_

_"I keep telling the both of you that I am fine," Steve uttered in frustration when, for the third time both Jesse and Mark had refused his request to go home. _

_"I just want to keep you here overnight for observation." Mark explained patiently, "You took a real knock there, Son, and I don't want to take any chances."_

_Looking back and forth between his father and Jesse, Steve decided to give in gracefully. To tell the truth, his head was throbbing. Resting back against the crisp, white hospital pillow Steve said, "Okay, I'll stay….just 'til the morning and then I am out of here."_

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

 Present day

"So, Steve," Jonathan Harper, Consultant Ophthalmologist, spoke cheerily, "it's that time of year again. Your annual eye exam."

"Mmmmm," was Steve's only reply. He always hated his eye exam, especially the drops, but this time he came to it with an added level of anxiety. He had noticed, over the last few months, a subtle change in his vision. Straight lines had begun to appear wavy when he looked at them. 

"Any problems?" Jonathan's voice broke through Steve's thoughts and he frowned a little when he heard what Steve had to say.

"Could it be serious?" Steve wanted to know.

"Could be any number of things, Steve." Jonathan answered, "All changes in vision is something that needs checking out and there is no point in speculating. Let's get on with the exam and we'll talk afterwards."

Fifteen minutes later and the part of the exam that Steve hated the most arrived. Jonathan reclined the chair so that Steve was at a 45 degree angle. He reached into a drawer to his left and extracted a small phial. 

"Must you?" Steve asked.

"Yes, Steve, we must," Jonathan was patient, as he was every year, "and given the 'wavy lines' you have been experiencing it is important that I check out the back of your eyes."

Snapping the top from the phial, Jonathan held open one of Steve's eyes and then the other, carefully placing a couple of drops into each one. Blinking rapidly, Steve was aware that his mouth had gone dry, whether due to the drops or anxiety he wasn't sure. Leaning over his patient, Jonathan carefully examined each retina. After a few minutes he put his ophthalmoscope down and returned Steve's chair to its upright position. 

"Okay, Doc," there was a slight tremor in Steve's voice at the look on Jonathan Harper's face.

Jonathan, who had known Steve and had performed all his eye tests since the tenth grade, took a deep breath before he spoke. 

"There are some opaque deposits behind the retina in your left eye, Steve. I would like to admit you for a few tests."

"Is it serious?" Steve asked again.

"As I said before, Steve," he began, rummaging on his desk for his appointments diary, "there could be any number of reasons and the tests that I would like to run with clarify the situation. Can you come in the day after tomorrow?"

"That soon?" like most basically healthy people, Steve was a little freaked out at the possibility that he might be ill.

"The sooner the better, Steve." Jonathan responded, "The quicker that we find out what the problem is, if indeed there is one, then the quicker it can be sorted."

"You can sort it out then?"

Jonathan grinned, "Let's wait until after the tests, okay?"

Having arranged to present himself at the ophthalmology department on Friday morning, Steve onto the precinct where he began, what turned out to be, a marathon twenty four hour shift due to a very high profile murder. It took a lot of fast talking, and a not considerable amount of lying, on Steve's part to get a couple of days off out of Captain Newman, but eventually he gave in. 

Steve had told Jonathan that he did not want his dad to know about the tests so, consequently, on Friday morning he left the house very early and made his way to Community General. He took the service elevator up to the fifth floor and booked himself in. 

Saturday afternoon

Steve sat in the chair next to his hospital bed watching the television, clicking his tongue in irritation. He reached out for the remote and began pressing the buttons on it until the colour balance was as he wanted. So intent was he on this occupation that he didn't hear Jonathan Harper come to stand in the doorway of his room. Looking in the direction of the flickering screen, Jonathan frowned a little at the highly garish colours which jumped out at him. Inhaling silently, he walked into the room bracing himself for a conversation that he would do anything not to have. 

Hearing footsteps, Steve looked up into his doctor's face and felt like someone had punched him in his abdomen. Steve had seen that look on his dad's and Jesse's faces enough times to know that the news was not good. He placed the remote back onto the bed and clasped his hands together so as not to betray the barely visible shaking. 

"Give it to me straight, Jonathan," he said, mildly ashamed to hear an audible tremor in his voice and hating himself for it. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jonathan spoke, "It's not good, Steve. You have a condition called macular degeneration."

"Macular degeneration? What is that? What does it mean?" Steve threw questions out like he was firing a gun.

"Technically, macular degeneration is the physical disturbance of the centre of the retina called the macula," Jonathan paused, just long enough for Steve to jump in. 

"Now that you have given me the dictionary explanation, tell me in words that I can understand."

"The macula is a part of the retina. If you were to look at a standard text book, it is the size of a capital 'O'. It's the part of the retina which helps with our detailed vision, for reading, driving watching television etc."

"That I understand," Steve replied, "but what causes it?"

"We are not totally sure," Jonathan replied, unhappily aware that this was not the answer this, or any patient, wanted to hear, "What I can tell you is that there are two types – 'wet' and 'dry'. Most people have the dry version, but a minority have what is known as the wet version, which is the sort I believe that you have. This involves bleeding in and under the retina, opaque deposits and eventually scar tissue formation. It is this kind which accounts for at least ninety percent of all cases of legal blindness in macular degeneration patients."

For a long moment, Steve was silent as a myriad of thoughts crowded into his brain. Eventually he looked up, "So from those stats, I guess I have a nine in ten chance of going blind."

"Of your sight deteriorating to a state where you would be classed legally blind, yes." Jonathan answered. 

"How did I get it?"

"By and large it is an age related condition," Jonathan informed him, "but with you that is not the case."

"Why?"

"Because you aren't old enough."

Despite his overwhelming fear at what the future held for him, Steve managed a weak grin and said, "Can I have that last comment in writing please? Jesse is always telling me that I am getting old. So what **_do_** you think caused it?"

"We have discounted heredity, diabetes, nutrition or infection in your case, so the only major cause left is head injury."

A furrow crossed Steve's brow as he said, "But I don't recall suffering a head injury for ages."

"I've checked back in your hospital records and I think that I have pinpointed the cause. Do you remember coming in with an injury to the left hand side of your temple about eighteen months ago?"

"Vaguely," Steve answered, "and I am sure it wasn't that bad."

"From what I can gather from Jesse…………." Jonathan only managed to get that far in the sentence before Steve interrupted him.

"You have spoken to Jesse!" he exclaimed, "I thought I told you that I didn't want anyone to know anything about this?"

"I needed to clarify a point in your medical history, Steve and to do that I had to talk to your doctor," Jonathan answered, a slight note of asperity creeping into his voice at Steve's implied criticism, "For the record, I did **_not_** talk to your dad and Jesse knows that the conversation we had was confidential."

He paused for a couple of seconds to allow the admonishment to sink in, before continuing, "I think it's time you told your dad."

"I will." Steve responded, somewhat distractedly, "So what do we do now?"

"Do?"

"What treatment is there to make it better?"

Jonathan heard the childlike plea in Steve's voice and hated the reply he had to give.

"There is no cure," he said.

In all the brushes with illness and injury that Steve had had over the years, there had always been a cure for whatever ailed him. He was momentarily stunned to hear that, for once, he wasn't being handed a 'get out of jail free' card. 

"Go home, Steve," Jonathan counselled, "talk to your dad. We will get together in a couple of days and talk some more. Ring my office in the morning to schedule an appointment."

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Mark Sloan pottered around his large, beautifully appointed kitchen preparing himself a casserole for his evening meal. He hoped that Steve would be home from his trip in time to join him and was making enough for two. Standing at the large kitchen window, Mark looked out at the magnificent view, a thought flashed through his mind and he frowned. It was a little odd for Jim Newman to have sent one of his senior detectives on a relatively minor assignment, especially with the huge manhunt that was taking place in LA at the moment. He shrugged philosophically, who was he to question the motives of Steve's superior? Moving away from the window, he grinned as that was something he had done on a very regular basis over the years. 

The casserole was finally cooked and he took it out of the oven, placing it on the side ready for the evening. Mark decided to pour himself a large mug of coffee and relax for a while. Moving through to the lounge he picked up the book he was currently reading and, sitting down on the sofa, opened it up and was soon lost in the Victorian London world of master detective, Sherlock Holmes. So deeply engrossed was he, that Mark didn't hear Steve's car pull up and the slow, heavy footsteps trudging up the wooden steps to the deck. It was only when a shadow crossed his book did Mark look up. Immediately, he knew that something amiss but, not knowing where Steve had really been over the past thirty six hours, he put it down to a problem at work. 

Taking his glasses off and laying them on the coffee table in front of him, Mark said, "What's the matter, Son? Did you trip not go well?"

"I haven't been away, Dad." Steve answered.

Mark was confused, "But you said……………."

"I know what I said, Dad, "Steve snapped then, sighing, he continued, "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to know where I was because I knew you'd worry."

"Worry?" Mark's anxiety was growing by the second, "Steve, what is going on?"

Moving away from where his dad sat, Steve stood by the door that he had recently entered as he, too, looked out over his beloved ocean. 

"I've been at Community General having some tests done," he admitted quietly.

Mark's reaction was exactly as he had known it would be, he leapt to his feet. "Tests! What tests? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't tell you because I knew that you would react in exactly this way and I didn't want to worry you needlessly," Steve responded. 

"Who was conducting the tests?" Mark asked, knowing that he would be able to gauge the nature of the problem by hearing the name of the doctor. 

"Jonathan Harper," Steve replied. 

"Jonathan?" of all the names that had been hurtling around Mark's brain, this was one which would have been way down on the list, "Have you been having eye problems?"

"Just straight lines looking wavy and colours not looking right," Steve replied. 

Mark Sloan was a highly intelligent, well read man who had the information about a great many medical conditions at his mental fingertips, but the relevance of these symptoms, for the moment eluded him. 

"So what does Jonathan think it is?" he asked.

"Something called macular degeneration," replied Steve, turning to look at his father. 

Mark was not totally familiar with the condition and, unfortunately, Steve was unable to fill him in as he had not totally taken in what Jonathan had been saying to him other than the fact that his sight was going to be permanently affected.

"What does Jonathan suggest now?" he wanted to know. 

"I have got to make an appointment to see him in a couple of days, "Steve answered, "I think he wanted me to talk to you first. I need to be on my own for a while, Dad, I'm going downstairs. I will see you in the morning."

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬ 

Mark stayed up late that night, frantically perusing his medical text book and many, many Internet sites. At the end of his research he sat back in his chair and rubbed a hand across tired, scratchy eyes. He had come to the inescapable conclusion that Steve's life was going to change, irrevocably. Although, at the moment, the symptoms were relatively minor they would progress and worsen. Steve would eventually have a permanent blurry area in the centre of his eye, a situation that would inevitably affect both eyes. He would no longer be able to continue as a front line officer, in fact, Mark wasn't sure if he would be able to stay on the force at all. A flutter of panic began to make itself felt in the pit of Mark's stomach, a flutter he firmly quelled, he would be of no use to Steve if he fell to pieces. The father in him hoped that the information he had found was wrong, whilst the doctor in him knew that it wasn't. 

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Steve found it impossible to sleep that night. Somehow, he did not want to shut his eyes. Logically, he knew that he would still be able to see in the morning but, when your life has just been turned upside down, logic often flew out of the window. He found himself wandering around his apartment, looking at and touching things, but also subconsciously moving the furniture around so that there was always a clear route to and from everywhere. He felt a little silly doing it, but he acknowledged that it was his way of dealing with the news he had been given. .  Tapping the back of one his armchairs Steve stood for a second thinking about the time, a few years before, when he had been temporarily blinded by a gunshot wound to the head. He remembered how helpless he had felt then and it frightened him to think that the situation he now found himself in was permanent. 

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

There was a third person unable to sleep that night. Dr. Jesse Travis. He had been a little surprised that morning to be approached by Jonathan Harper for, as far as Jesse could remember, he hadn't referred anyone to Jonathan for quite a while. When he realised that it was Steve that Jonathan wanted to discuss, Jesse was shocked especially when it emerged which particular incident in Steve's long and diverse medical history he wanted to discuss.  Jonathan had been very clear at the outset that the conversation they were having was highly confidential. Jesse had initially bridled at the implied criticism of his professional integrity but, as the conversation progressed, he understood why Jonathan had been so assertive. 

As Jesse, too, paced the floor of his lounge he suddenly came to a halt next to the bookcase which he and Steve had built on the day of the accident. A surge of anger, mainly at himself, suddenly welled up in Jesse for coercing Steve into helping him. If he hadn't been so intent in getting the damn bookcase built, Steve would never have had the accident and his eyesight would not now be permanently compromised. Unable to stop himself, Jesse reached out and pulled as hard as he could on the bookcase and as it crashed heavily to the floor the ornaments sitting on top scattered in all directions. 


	2. Chapter 2

 Chapter 2

Steve sat alone in the reception area of Jonathan Harper's office looking around him at the posters and notices on the wall. It struck him as a little ironic that there was so much reading matter around in a place where so many people came with eye problems. As he was waiting, Steve's mind wandered back to the night before. Mark had finally pinned him down for the 'chat' that he had been doing his level best to avoid. He had arrived home from work to find his dad standing in the lounge, a mug of coffee cradled in his hands looking out over the ocean.  

_Clicking his tongue silently in irritation, knowing he wasn't going to be able to avoid his dad any longer, Steve ascended the stairs and moved across to where Mark was standing. _

_"Hi, Dad," he said._

_"Oh, hi, Steve," Mark replied, turning to look at his son._

_Steve knew that Mark was doing his very best to hide it, but he could see the pain behind his father's eyes and felt his stomach take a plunge. What he saw there was equalled, if not surpassed, by the growing knot of fear he had felt inside over the past few days. _

_"I'm scared, Dad," he said simply. _

_Mark took a deep breath before he spoke, "So am I, Steve. I have been for days and I was wondering when you were going to tell me that you were."_

_Steve moved past his dad to come to a halt at the wooden railing, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the balustrade. His eyes roved along the beach, the ocean and, finally, the horizon. _

_"I cannot comprehend that there will come a day when I won't be able to do this, Dad." he said, his words initially even and measured, "To stand here and look out over the ocean, to see the subtle changes that each season brings, to look at a sunset, to surf. How can I surf if I can't see? How can I work if I can't see?"_

_As he had been speaking, Steve's voice had risen in volume and his breath came in short bursts. Mark moved swiftly to his son's side and placed a reassuring hand on Steve's shoulder. For days, the fear had been growing inside of him and now it all came tumbling out.  _

_"All I have ever known my whole adult life is being a police officer. I can't be a cop if I can't see. I'm not going to be able to drive, ride my bikes and go camping.  I am going to be totally incapable of doing anything on my own."_

_Even though these were the exact things that had been going around in Mark's brain, he knew that this was not the moment to admit to them._

_"Of course you are going to be able to do things on your own, Steve.  There are plenty of people with a visual impairment who live perfectly independent, full lives."_

_"Is this little pep talk the one that you usually give to your patients?" Steve snapped._

_"No, Son, it is not!" Mark's reply was equally terse and, for a moment, both men glared at each other, on the brink of an argument that would have been both pointless and counter-productive. _

_"I'm sorry, Dad. I know that you would never patronize your patients and you certainly wouldn't do it to me. It's just that I am…," his voice tailed off._

_"Scared and angry and you needed someone to sound off at," Mark finished off the sentence._

_"I guess so. ….Dad, I don't know what to do," the admission was almost wrung from Steve._

_"You go to Jonathan Harper's office tomorrow, you find out what the prognosis is and then you get on and play with the cards you have been dealt," Steve would never know how much it was costing him, emotionally, to act as calmly as he was, a fact that Mark hoped would never surface._

_"Simple as that, huh?"__ Steve replied._

_"No," Mark answered, the smile on his lips not reaching his eyes," it won't be simple at all. It will be hard, there will be times when you will want to give up and curl up like a baby in a corner somewhere."_

_"What happens then?"_

_"Then I will be in that corner as well, uncurling you and helping you to stand. Me, Jesse, Amanda or any one of your many friends, Steve. You will never have to go through any of this alone." _

"Mr. Sloan?" a soft voice broke those Steve's thoughts and he looked up.

"Yes?"

"Dr. Harper is ready for you now, Sir." 

 From behind his desk, Jonathan looked up, obviously surprised to see Steve on his own.

"No Mark?" he asked. 

"No," Steve replied, "I needed to do this on my own."

"I understand that," Jonathan answered then, taking a deep breath, continued, "so, shall we get on?"

"Right," Steve sat down, "fire away."

"Well there are indications of bleeding beneath the retina of your left eye and this, along with the opaque deposits that I saw during your initial exam, would lead me to say that you are suffering from the 'wet' form of macular degeneration."

"Okay." Steve replied slowly, he had been hoping against hope that Jonathan would tell him that he had made a mistake the other day and that everything was going to be alright but as that wasn't to be, he continued, "Jonathan, I know that you explained this to me the last time but, to be honest, I didn't really take all of it in. Tell me again, please."

Jonathan smiled, "Steve, I would have been surprised had you taken anything at all in. 

Okay then, the macula is the central point of the retina and is responsible for the 'detail vision' that we use when we read, recognise faces etc. With macular degeneration it's like there is a hole in the centre of our vision and everything in that area becomes blurry."

"Is there **anything** that can be done?" Steve asked.

"There are things, but they only have the potential to arrest the progress rather than reverse its effects."

"What sort of treatment are you talking about?" Steve asked, not sure that he really wanted to know as he really hated the thought of anyone going near his eyes with anything. 

"There is a treatment, approved of by the FDA, called Photodynamic Laser Therapy. It uses a light activated drug which seals off the leaking blood vessels leaving the healthy ones intact. As I said, Steve it's more like plugging a hole in the dam rather than repairing it."

"Okay," Steve responded, feeling a little queasy at the pictures conjured up in his mind by Jonathan's words, "That is something I will have to think about.  What I need you to tell me now is what sort of timescale are we talking about and how long am I going to be able to keep on working?"

"I can't give you an answer to either of those questions." Jonathan answered.

"Why not?"

"Because, in some cases, macular degeneration may be active for a period, then slow down or even stop for a long time. On the other hand, it may remain active and the loss of vision could be rapid. As for work, you will need to talk to your captain about that. He will know better than I what the rules are. In the meantime, I will schedule bi-monthly checks so that we can monitor what is happening, but if anything happens in between appointments I want you to come in right away.  I will also give you some more information on macular degeneration and contact details of a number of support organisations."

"Is there anything else we need to discuss today?" Steve asked, feeling a little overwhelmed.

"No, Steve, there isn't," Jonathan replied.

"Right," Steve said, standing up and tucking the paperwork Jonathan had given to him in his jacket pocket and holding out his hand, "I'll see you soon."

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Exiting the elevator on the third floor, Steve trudged slowly along the corridor towards his father's office. He was completely lost in his own thoughts and didn't notice a white-coated figure dive hastily through a doorway. Pushing open the door to his father's office, Steve stepped inside. 

Mark raised his head from the paperwork that he had been pretending to read as the door opened. 

"Well," he began, attempting to keep his voice even, "how did it go?"

"As you would expect, Dad." Steve replied, lowering himself into one of the comfy armchairs facing the desk, "There is no cure, only a procedure that may slow down the progress."

"Well, if there is something that can slow it down then you must go for it, Steve," Mark urged, watching his son scrutinising the backs of his hands as if trying to burn the image into his brain. 

 "I don't know, Dad." Steve replied, "If it was something that had a chance to cure this condition then I would go for it, but it isn't. All it will do is slow it down."

"But it will enable you to have better vision for longer," Mark couldn't quite understand his son's reluctance.

"All it will do is postpone the inevitable, Dad," he answered, "and I am not sure, at the moment, that that is a good enough reason. I need some more time to think."

"What else did Jonathan say?" 

"That I need to talk to Captain Newman and let him know what is happening.

Jonathan doesn't know what the department's position is, but I suspect that I will be taken off active duty and filed behind a desk somewhere." Steve spoke calmly enough, which would have fooled many people but Mark knew better, detecting the hint of resentment in his son's voice.

 "Maybe not, Steve," Mark attempted to be positive, "you are a good police officer and Jim Newman knows that."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad," Steve answered, well aware of his father's intentions, "but a cop who can't see to chase the bad guys, shoot straight or even drive to a crime scene is of no use to the department."

Standing, he continued, "Well, I guess that there is no time like the present. I'll see you at home later?"

"Yes, I'll be home about seven," Mark replied.

For a long time after the door had closed behind his son, Mark sat staring at the door.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Dr. Amanda Bentley left her small office which was attached to where she carried out her autopsies and walked along the corridor in search of Jesse. She had just finished a report on one of his patients and she knew that he wanted the information as soon as possible. Checking her watch, she turned her steps in the direction of the doctor's lounge. The blinds were closed which surprised her a little, as did the fact that as she opened the door, Jesse jumped at least six inches in the air only returning to his previous slumped pose in his chair when he realised who it was. 

"Jesse!" she exclaimed, "What on earth is the matter with you?"

"I thought it might be Steve," he answered, sending another furtive glance towards the door.

"What have you done now?" Amanda's tone was half accusatory, half  humourous.

For a long moment, Jesse did not answer he simply stared into the middle distance. Unlike Steve, Jesse was totally incapable of hiding his feelings and Amanda could see that he was in deep turmoil. This was not the Jesse that Amanda knew and, despite constant irritations, loved.

"Jesse?" she asked, "You are scaring me, what's the matter?"

"I'm thinking of leaving Community General," he spoke quietly, "My mom has been asking me again recently to join her at her clinic and I am seriously thinking about it."

"Jesse! You can't leave Community General, you love it here." Amanda began to speak and then a thought struck her, "So why are you so worried about seeing Steve? Has this got something to do with him?"

Jesse sighed, the image of a sightless Steve strong in his minds eye.

"In a way, yes," he reluctantly admitted. 

Amanda raised her eyebrows in a silent question.

"I wish I could tell you about it, Amanda, but I can't," Jesse replied, his voice cracking with the unshed tears which were crowding his throat.

"Jesse, you have had many a run-in with Steve in the past and you have both always managed to get past it. What is so different about this time? Can't you talk to Steve?"

"It wouldn't change anything, Amanda, believe me," Jesse replied, rising from his seat, "I've got to get back to work now."

Jesse left the doctor's lounge leaving Amanda standing staring at the open doorway in complete stupefaction. For a long while she stood and then, shaking herself, she strode out of the lounge and along the corridor. Without knocking she opened Mark's office door and walked straight in. 

"Amanda!" Mark was surprised at her abrupt entrance. 

"What is up with Jesse and Steve?" she demanded.

"Jesse and Steve?" Mark asked, "Why?

 "Because Jesse is thinking of leaving Community General and I know that it is something to do with Steve."

An arrested expression suddenly came over Mark's face, he rose quickly from his seat and left Amanda standing, stunned and alone for the second time in quick succession, in the middle of his office.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Leaving Community General later that day having, barely, on a couple of occasions, managed to avoid Mark, Jesse drove home. Usually the view from his compact deck soothed him after a long, stressful day but today there was to be no mental respite. All Jesse could think about was the view that Steve would eventually not be able to see. Absentmindedly he wandered into the kitchen, made himself a strong coffee and sat down on his sofa.

An hour later the coffee, now stone cold, sat congealing in the mug where Jesse had forgotten it. The light outside was fading and Jesse sat in the gathering gloom, a look of complete abstraction on his face. It was only two, sharp and **_very _**loud raps on his front door that brought him back to the present. He stood up and carefully made his way across the darkened room, pausing only to switch the light on. He opened the door and immediately wished he hadn't for standing there was Steve and, to Jesse's practised eye, he looked angrier than he had ever seen him before. 

Pushing past Jesse, Steve strode into the centre of the room and span on his heels to face his friend, placing his hands on his hips. It was, Jesse silently acknowledged, a magnificent sight but one that he would far rather been directed at someone else. 

"Hi, Steve," he said in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. 

"What the hell are you playing at?" Steve thundered. 

"What do you mean?" Jesse tried his most innocent tone which, unfortunately for him, only served to enrage Steve further.

"You are thinking of leaving LA? You are going to work with your mom? What the hell is going on, Jess?" Steve's voice grew louder with each succeeding sentence. 

Looking into his friend's face, Jesse sighed and walked past Steve to stand in front of the window, staring out onto the sunset which was spreading gently across the horizon.

"It's my fault," he whispered. 

"What is?" Steve asked, knowing full well what the answer was going to be.

 However, even he was shocked by the anguish he saw in Jesse's eyes when he finally turned to face him. 

"I spoke to Jonathan Harper the other day," Jesse responded, by way of explanation, "and he told me…. told me that……"

"I'm going blind," Steve finished the sentence for him.

"Steve!" Jesse was surprised at the baldness of Steve's statement. 

Ignoring his friend's surprise, Steve went straight to the heart of the matter, "So how do you figure that what's happening to me is your fault?"

"You aren't serious?" Jesse was incredulous.

"Jess," Steve's tone was terse, "my sense of humour is taking a vacation at the moment, of course I am serious."

"Jonathan told me that the accident you had when you were helping me make my bookcase was what started all this. If I hadn't coerced you into helping me that day, if I hadn't had that accident and pulled you down with me………….."Jesse's voice tailed off again.

"Jess, if I hadn't been with you I could have been run over by a stolen car or a bus. Yes, I know it's cliché, but it is true. I can't pretend that I am not totally freaked out by what is happening to me, but the furthest thing from my mind is blaming you for it. I don't know how things are going to pan out in the future, but I do know that I will need as many friends as I can get. I can't afford to lose my best one through his mistaken sense of guilt."

"I'm your best friend?"  Steve couldn't help but smile at the surprise in Jesse's voice.

Reaching out and dragging him under his arm, Steve ruffled Jesse's hair until it stuck up in all directions. Pulling himself free, Jesse smiled his first smile of the day and said, "Coffee?"

Ten minutes later the two men were sat on bar stools in Jesse's kitchen drinking their coffee.

"Steve?" Jesse spoke into the companionable silence.

"Yes?"

"Did you really mean it?"

"Mean what?" Steve asked.

"That you don't blame me," knowing that Steve would never lie to him about something as important as this, Jesse was relieved.

"Of course I don't, Jess." Steve replied.

"Why aren't you angry?" Jesse replied, "If it were me I'd want to scream."

"Jess, I am too busy being terrified to feel angry." Steve began, "I can't honestly say that I won't get angry at some point but, at the moment, no I'm more scared than anything else."

"So what happens now?" Jesse asked. 

"Well, I went to see Captain Newman today and, until I have been seen by the force doctor, I have been taken off of front line duty."

"What then?" Jesse queried, knowing full well what that decision would have meant to Steve.

"Who knows, Jess?" Steve replied, "Jonathan tells me that I need to have bi-monthly appointments with him to monitor the situation but I suspect that the best thing for me to do is to carry on as normal until something changes."

"Do you think you will be able to remain on the force?"

"I wish I knew the answer to that, Jess," Steve responded, "I guess that will be something to discuss when I see the doctor. Until then…  I am deskbound."

For a couple of minutes, Jesse was silent then he said, "Steve, can I ask you ....you know, about your sight?"

"Ask away," Steve said.

"What ….er….what is…" Jesse waved his hands in the general direction of Steve.

"How bad is it?" Steve supplied, "At the moment straight lines are looking wavy and colours are a little off."

"That's it?" Jesses was surprised, in his mind he had Steve two days away from a white stick and a guide dog.

"Seems weird, huh?" Steve said, "Two insignificant symptoms which mean that I will eventually be legally blind."

"Will you have any sight at all?" Jesse wasn't sure if he was asking the right questions, but he needed to know. So far, he had been far too busy feeling guilty to do what he would normally do, which was research things for himself. 

Steve frowned a little in surprise at Jesse's question, he was normally a mine of information on all subjects, but he continued, "Apparently my peripheral vision will be there, but the central part of my sight will be fuzzy."

"Is there any treatment?" Jesse was on a roll now and the questions were coming thick and fast. 

"Yeah, a photo-something laser thing," Steve said.

"Very lucid, Steve," Jesse quipped.

"Yeah, I know," Steve replied.

"Will it cure it?" 

"No, Jess, there is no cure but, apparently, that could slow the progression down."

"You don't sound terribly keen," Jesse picked up on the doubt in Steve's voice.

"You're right, Jess, I'm not," Steve began, "I need to get a lot more information from Jonathan about it but if all it can do is slow things down, then I am not so sure."

"But anything that would help you has to be a good thing," Jess protested.

"I'm not saying that you're wrong, Jesse, and it may be that it would be right for some people. All I am saying is that if, once I get all the information, I decide not to go for it then I need for everyone to accept that."

"I think you might get an argument from Mark, Steve," Jesse commented wryly.

"Perhaps," Steve answered, "but in the end it's my sight and I'm the one that will be making the decisions."

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Amanda had not been able to fully concentrate on her work all afternoon; her thoughts had been on Mark and Steve. Also, if she was being honest, she was angry that, yet again she seemed to be out of the loop. She knew that there was something big going on and she planned to get to the bottom of it so, as soon as her shift was over she drove straight to the beach house. Getting out of her car, Amanda trod purposefully up the red brick steps. Ringing the doorbell, she stood impatiently tapping her foot on the ground. 

Mark beamed as he saw Amanda on the other side of the front door; he was always pleased to see her. His smile faded a little, however, as he perceived the look on her face. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Dr. Amanda Bentley was **_seriously_** displeased. 

"Amanda," Mark exclaimed, "what a lovely surprise!"

"May I come in, Mark?" she asked, with every intention of doing so whatever Mark may say.

"Of course, Sweetheart," Mark stood back, allowing her to pass, "would you like a coffee?"

"What I would like," retorted Amanda, reaching the lounge and turning to face Mark, "is to know what is going on? Jesse saying that he is going to leave Community General, you leaving me standing in the middle of your office. Something is happening, Mark, and I want to know what it is."

Mark had known, when he had left Amanda in his office, that she was going to want to know why and he had asked Steve's permission to talk to her.

"Sit down, Amanda," he said.

Amanda sat, a little knot of fear tying itself in the pit of her stomach.

"It's about Steve," he began, sitting down next to her.

The little knot suddenly became very large as Amanda said, "Is he ill?"

"There is something," Mark began.

"Is he dying?" was Amanda's next question.

"Oh, Honey, no," Mark was quick to allay that particular fear, placing a comforting, and protecting, arm around her shoulders and pulling her to him. 

"Oh, thank God." Amanda breathed, "What is it?"

"Do you remember about eighteen months ago he had an accident when he and Jesse were making that bookcase?"

"Yes," Amanda answered, not quite seeing where this was going.

"Well, apparently, the blow to the head did more damage than we originally thought. It has caused some damage to Steve's retina, more specifically damage to the macula."

Amanda, whilst an exceptionally bright woman, was not an expert on the eye.

"So what can be done?" she wanted to know.

"Unfortunately there isn't anything," Mark replied.

For a moment Amanda was silent, she did not initially comprehend the full significance of Mark's statement. Then, comprehension dawned and tears came, unbidden, to her eyes.

"Do you mean that Steve is going to lose his sight?" the tears which had threatened before, now spilled over running, unheeded down Amanda's face.

"I'm afraid so, Honey." Mark replied, "Although he will retain some peripheral vision, he will be classed as legally blind."

"How's Steve taking it?" Amanda, like everyone else, knew just how Steve felt about being ill.

"Remarkably well, actually," surprise showed itself in Mark's tone, "he is scared, I am too, but by and large he seems to be okay."

"Is he being the brave cop'?" Amanda spoke from experience.

"I don't think so," Mark replied, "I suspect it's more that it hasn't really hit home yet."

"Mmmm," murmured Amanda, "So we all need to keep an eye out for when he is liable to blow."

"Very true," smiled Mark.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Driving home later that evening, Steve reflected on his conversation with Jesse. He hoped that he had managed to convince him that all this, here Steve mentally waved a hand at his eyes, wasn't Jesse's fault and that he wanted him to stay. He knew that things were going to be hard over the next few months, or however long it took, and he also knew that without friends it would be a damn sight harder. Steve was, by and large, a very self sufficient individual but it occurred to him that it might not be a bad idea to start looking into what sort of help, specifically practical help, was out there for him to tap into.

As he turned into his drive, Steve smiled to himself. He knew that everyone was expecting him to feel very frustrated and to blow his stack at someone but the funny thing was that he didn't feel like that at all. Yeah, he was scared when he thought about what the future held, a future that was going be diametrically opposed to the one he'd imagined for himself, but there was an odd calmness inside of him and it was that which for the moment was keeping him going.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Much had changed for Steve Sloan in the past eighteen months. The sight in his left eye had greatly deteriorated and the sight in his right was getting worse. After many consultations with Jonathan Harper and much discussion with his dad, Jesse and Amanda, Steve had decided against having the laser treatment. He knew that Mark wasn't happy with his choice but, as he had pointed out many, many times, it was his decision to make and, so far, he hadn't really regretted it.

After his meeting with the police doctor, Steve had been allowed back on active duty. He was pleased with this decision, although he did not appreciate the rider which said he was no longer allowed to drive whilst on duty. He argued long and hard that if the DMV saw fit to let him keep his licence then that should be good enough for the LAPD. Unfortunately, the force's rules did not allow for any leeway and Steve had to suffer the indignity of being chauffeured, as he saw it, around the streets of Los Angeles.  However, as his eyesight deteriorated, even that was denied him as once again, and permanently this time, he was taken off the streets and imprisoned behind a desk. 

Since the diagnosis, Steve had had some dark days but the day he sat behind his desk, knowing that this time it was for good, was the worst. Within the department, Steve Sloan's temper was legendary as were the accompanying signs and anyone who came into contact with him that day were treated to the full force of both. Not only was he now unable to do the job which he loved, but he also had to endure the sympathetic glances of his colleagues. 

Realising that Steve would be in an exceptionally foul temper when he arrived home, Mark decided on an attempt at placating him with his favourite food. So when Steve entered the house at just after six that evening, Mark had it all laid out on the large table outside. 

Peering at the food, Steve asked, a little belligerently, "Are we having a party?"

Sighing, this evening was going to be difficult. "No, Steve, we aren't. I just thought you might like some ribs and fries for dinner tonight."

"So, no visitors?"

"Well," Mark spoke slowly, aware that Steve would not welcome his next words, "Jesse said he might pop in after his shift finishes for a coffee."

"Oh, great, the cheerleading squad!" Steve's response was heavily sarcastic.

Despite his enormous sympathy for his son's predicament, Mark wasn't going to let Steve get away with that.

"For your information, Jesse may be coming for a chat about a patient, **_with me_**. Steve, we all know that you are going through a hard time," his words were interrupted by a loud, derisive snort from his son, but he continued doggedly, "However, whilst I make every allowance for your occasional lapse in temper I will not tolerate your rudeness about Jesse. He has been nothing but supportive over the last few months."

Mark's tone was reminiscent of when he had told Steve off as a child. Under any other circumstances, Steve would have appreciated it and admitted his error. The trouble was, he really wasn't in the mood to being reduced to the mental state of a grubby schoolboy.

"I am fully aware of my situation, Dad, and I really am not in the mood for a lecture so can we leave it, please?"

"If that's what you want, Steve." Mark's voice was clipped with annoyance, "Do you want something to eat now?"

By this time the aroma of the special sauce had reached his nostrils and, whilst he wasn't in the mood to be conciliatory, Steve recognised that not eating would be counter productive and childish. 

For the rest of the evening, both men sat out on the deck watching the slowly darkening evening sky and eating the food. The conversation was desultory, as well as stilted and it was very early when Steve made his excuses and went down to his unit to spend a restless night. Mark, too, turned in early as Jesse rang him saying he was going to be tied up for a long while and wouldn't arrive. 

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

The sun shone in through Steve's partially closed curtains the next morning and it was a particularly persistent ray playing across his face which woke him up. For a few seconds he lay there in that half-way house between sleep and full consciousness, then the events of the evening before thrust itself to the forefront of his brain and he was totally awake. Sitting up, Steve rubbed his hands over his face before throwing the covers off and swinging his legs round to place his feet on the floor. Walking confidently, he made his way across his bedroom into his bathroom to take a shower.

Over the past few months, as his sight deteriorated, Steve had spent a lot of time considering the layout of his apartment. He had looked around and realised that there were no clear walkways in any part of his unit and he had set about changing that. So now, he could make his way from one area to another easily. As he stood under the pulsating spray, Steve smiled to himself; this thing with his eyesight had done something that his dad, in all his years of nagging, hadn't been able to do, that was to make him tidy.  In fact, it had got to the point where Steve himself got cross with a visitor if they didn't put something back where it should be. '

Stepping out of the shower, Steve dried himself off and quickly dressed before climbing the stairs towards his dad's area of the house.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Like Steve, Mark had not slept very well that night and he had arisen the next morning feeling very sluggish and really not in the mood for his shift at the hospital. 

Wandering into the kitchen, he made himself some coffee and pulled a jelly donut from the refrigerator. He knew it wasn't the best start to the day but, what the hell, he thought sometimes what's good for you isn't necessarily what you need. Hearing footsteps ascending the inside staircase, Mark hoped that Steve was in a better frame

of mind as he really wasn't in the mood for another argument. 

Pushing the door open, Steve walked through into the kitchen. 

"Good morning, Dad," he said, and Mark sighed a silent sigh of relief. 

"Hi, Steve," he replied, "did you sleep well?"

"Not really," Steve admitted, "did you?"

"No," Mark answered, "Steve…."

"Dad," both men spoke at the same time.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Steve managed to get his apology in before Mark could speak again, "I had a really lousy day yesterday and I took it out on you."

"Yes, you did," Mark replied, "but if you can't come home and take your bad temper out on me, who can you take it out on? What are your plans for today?"

"I have an appointment with Jonathan this afternoon," Steve replied, with a grimace which showed exactly how he felt about that.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Jonathan sat back and switched the light back on before flicking the lever which sat Steve upright. He sighed.

"Jonathan?" Steve heard the sigh and knew that he wasn't going to like what he heard. 

"The sight in your left eye is now below the legal limit, Steve." he began, continuing before Steve, who had opened his mouth, was actually able to speak," Your right eye is still okay, for the moment. Given the rate of deterioration that you have experienced so far, Steve, you will have to give up your licence at that point."

For a long while, Steve sat staring into the middle distance. Knowing that, one day, he would no longer be able to drive was one thing but, to be given a timescale by which this would become a reality was a shock. He did not really hear the rest of what Jonathan had to say and left the office a while later in silence. 

Steve decided that he really didn't want to see his dad, Jesse or Amanda, at the moment; he needed to process the latest information on his own. Getting into his car, Steve sat for a long while soaking up the feeling of being behind the wheel and thinking. Then, shrugging his shoulders, he turned on the ignition and drove to the precinct.  His only stop was in Jim Newman's office, and it was a brief stop, before he was out of the station and again behind the wheel of his car, driving off without a backwards glance. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Closing the front door behind him, Steve trod carefully down the steps holding onto the rail, which Mark had insisted on having installed, and walked across to the trunk of his car. Throwing his bags in he moved round to the driver's door. Opening it up, he leaned in placed the bag containing his camera equipment onto the passenger seat and then curled himself in behind the wheel. Fastening his seatbelt, Steve turned on the ignition and drove off. He knew that his dad was going to worry, that was something that came as naturally to him as breathing, but he needed to do this. One last road trip, on his own, whilst he was still able to. He had no clear idea of exactly where he was headed or what he was going to do when he got there so, pointing his car in the direction of PCH, he set off. 

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Mark returned to the beach house after a long and very busy shift, not to mention many abortive attempts to contact his son, with his danger antennae fully extended.  Entering the house, Mark dropped his keys on the hall table and walked through to the kitchen. The house felt ominously empty and instinctively, Mark moved back through the lounge and made his way down the stairs to Steve's unit. The silence followed, enveloping him like a thick blanket. Mark looked around for some clue as to what might be happening, initially finding nothing. Then, just as he was about to leave Mark caught sight of the large note board Steve had on his kitchen wall and on it there was a white sheet of paper with large, uneven writing on it, much larger than it used to be.  Moving across, Mark read the words.

_Dad,_

_Don't worry. I am OK. I just need to get _

_away__ for a while. I'll call. Talk to Jonathan  
if you want to._

_Steve_

Touched that, given his current aversion to writing, Mark stood just looking at the note, several emotions running through his brain. There was a part of him that was worried about Steve and what he was going through at the moment. However, as a doctor, he was a little relieved that, at last, Steve seemed to be reacting to what was happening. He was very proud of how Steve had been handling himself over the past few months, more proud than he could ever say. Nonetheless he, along with Jesse and Amanda, had been very surprised that there hadn't been an explosion of emotion as there often was when Steve was ill. Whilst he was concerned at what Steve might be doing at this point, Mark was pleased that there was a reaction.

Whilst Mark had every intention of following Steve's second instruction he did not intend, nor have the ability, to follow the first.  Of course he'd worry!  He would only stop worrying about his children the day they nailed the lid down. Mark looked at his watch, Jonathan would have left the office now so he wouldn't be able to talk to him until tomorrow. Making a decision, Mark left the house and drove to Bobs where he knew he would find some company.

As Mark walked through the entrance Jesse, busy serving, spotted him and waved. Returning the greeting, Mark found an empty table and sat down waiting for his friend. He wasn't alone long. Jesse had passed the order he had been taking to the kitchen and immediately moved across to Mark. Sitting down, Jesse said, "Okay, Mark, what's up?"

"What makes you think that something is wrong?" Mark countered, knowing full well that it was useless to try and hide anything from Jesse who, despite his boyish exterior, was exceptionally perceptive.

"Hmm, let me think," Jesse replied, "No Steve, the look on your face and ….oh yeah, no Steve."

Mark couldn't help but smile.

"Am I that obvious?" he asked.

"Only to those of us who know you well." Jesse replied, "I ask again, what's up?"

"Steve has decided to go walkabout or, given that his car isn't at home, driveabout." 

"I don't understand," Jesse answered, "why now?"

"I'm not sure either," Mark replied, "I'll need to talk to Jonathan in the morning, but I 

strongly suspect that he has told Steve that he won't be able to drive for much longer."

"Ah," Jesse's one syllable answer said it all, "So you haven't spoken to Steve at all."

"No, he had taken off before I got home."

"So how do you know he hasn't just gone out for the evening?" Jesse was nothing if not persistent. 

"There was a note in his kitchen for me and his travel bag along with some clothes is missing." Mark said, pausing a second before continuing, "I'll just have to wait until Steve gets in contact."

"Let me know when he does," Jesse said.

"Of course I will," Mark affirmed, "and I'll let Amanda know as well."

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

The first person that Jonathan Harper saw when he arrived for work the next morning was Jesse, who had arisen very early and had been waiting outside Jonathan's office since 7 am.

"I can't give you any information on a patient, Jesse," he spoke before the younger man could speak.

"I wouldn't expect you to," Jesse replied, "but I would like some help please."

"Certainly," Jonathan replied, opening his office door and gesturing for Jesse to precede him, "what can I do?"

"I want to see what Steve is seeing," Jesse was blunt.

Jonathan looked a little puzzled, "I'm not sure that I'm with you."

"I've researched all about macular degeneration since Steve was diagnosed and I've seen a couple of doctored pictures showing what someone with the condition sees, but I still want to experience it for myself. I want to do this so that I can really understand what Steve is going through."

 "I'm not sure how I can do that," Jonathan responded thoughtfully.

"There must be some way to simulate the effects," Jesse said. 

Jonathan thought for a while and then said, "The only thing that I can come up with would be to have a pair of contact lenses made with the centre disfigured in some way."

"Do you think that would work?" now that there was a tangible idea on the table, Jesse's enthusiasm ratcheted itself up a couple of notches. 

 "Well, I've never been asked to do anything like this before but, yes, the more I think about it, the more I think it would work."

 "Will you do them for me please?"

"You will need a sight test so that the lenses are right for you. Tell me, Jesse, why would you want to do something like this?" Jonathan asked.

"Because Steve is my friend," Jesse answered quietly, more serious than Jonathan had ever seen him, "and like it says in the old saying 'don't let me criticise a man until I have walked a mile in his moccasins'. Well, I'm not criticising Steve but if I could get just a glimpse of what he is having to deal with then I think that I'll be able to support him better."

Jonathan smiled, "Jesse, are an amazing young man. Steve is very lucky to have you as a friend."

"Thank you, Jonathan," Jesse smiled his pleasure at the praise. 

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

The sun was beginning to set as Steve turned into the car park of a beach front motel. It had been the large, fluorescent neon sign proclaiming vacancies that had attracted his attention. He had been driving for quite a while and his eyes were beginning to feel gritty with tiredness.

Getting out of the car, Steve slung the strap of his camera bag over his shoulder, moving then to the trunk to retrieve his other bag. The light was rapidly decreasing now and Steve needed to be careful as he made his way to the reception area. The young woman, seated behind the high counter, who was busy reading a magazine,  looked up as she heard the tinkle of the door bell. As she caught sight of Steve, her face lit up in a smile, for it wasn't very often that such a good looking guy crossed her path. 

"Good evening, Sir." She purred, "Can I help you?"

"I'd like a room for the night, please." Steve replied.

"Single or double?" the young woman asked.

Recognising the tone in her voice, Steve had to restrain a grin as he answered, "Single."

Reaching to her left Cindy, as her badge proclaimed her name to be, picked up a blank registration card and pushed it, along with a pen, towards Steve. He swallowed, with his deteriorating eyesight writing was something that he found difficult and avoided  if he could. Picking up the pen, Steve laboriously completed the card and felt, rather than saw, the frown which crossed Cindy's face.

"I have a sight problem," he explained.

Cindy's brow cleared and she replied, "I wondered if that's what it was, I have a friend who has eye problems. How bad are yours?"

Under normal circumstances Steve would have resented such a bold question from a complete stranger. Somehow, though, the tone in Cindy's voice was one of genuine curiosity rather than anything else and he found himself answering her. 

"I have a condition called macular degeneration," he explained, "my left eye has less than 20/200 vision and the right eye is well on the way there. It is probable that, after my next visit to the specialist, I will have to give up my drivers licence so I am having one last solo trip."

"Where are you headed?" Cindy asked as she plucked a room key from the board next to her, before moving round to stand next to Steve.

"When I left home this morning," Steve began, "I didn't have a clue. But I've been having a think on the drive and there is a great spot for whale watching along the coast and I'm going to head there."

"That sounds cool," Cindy answered, "Would you like to see your room now?"

"Yes, please," Steve answered, leaning down to pick his bag up and following Cindy along a brightly lit corridor to his room.

Since his diagnosis, this was the longest car journey, as driver, that Steve had undertaken and he was surprised at how the extra level of concentration needed had tired him out. Deciding that he needed sleep more than he needed food, Steve took a quick shower and was very soon tucked up in bed mulling over, just before he drifted off, the things that he would be experiencing over the next few days.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Mark's visit to Jonathan Harper, soon after Jesse, was very enlightening and he came away from the meeting understanding a little more why Steve had taken off as he had. 

"I was right," he confided to Jesse and Amanda over a pasta meal at the beach house later that evening, "Jonathan did tell Steve that he is probably going to have to give up his licence soon."

"Why didn't he ask one of us to go with him?" Amanda wanted to know.

"You know Steve," Mark answered, "he is incredibly independent. Even though he is still going to have some peripheral sight and will be able to do more than he imagines, there will still be certain limitations.  So, he had to do this on his own."

"Aren't you worried about him driving?" Jesse wanted to know.

"Well, I'm not wild about it," Mark admitted, "but, as with everything Steve has done since he turned 18, I have very little choice in the matter. However stubborn he may be but I know that Steve won't push himself too far."

In between mouthfuls of pasta, covered in Mark's delicious special sauce that Jesse was desperate to get the recipe for, he asked, "How long do you expect Steve to be away?"

"He will be away as long as needs to be, Jess," Mark replied. "I am sure that he will call soon though."

"Does he know that you have ordered those enhancements for his computer yet?" Jesse was in serious 'question' mode now.

Mark grinned a little sheepishly, "Not yet, no."

"And what do you think he'll say?" Amanda was smiling as well.

"I rather think that it will depend upon the success of his trip," Mark replied.

"What is it that you have got?"  Jesse asked.

"It's software which will help Steve to word process more easily and also surf the net by enlarging everything on the screen."

"Exactly how will that help?" Amanda asked.

"We use the macula to look at things," he began simply and Amanda nodded her understanding, "With macular degeneration, it is as though there is a hole in the centre of your vision so when you look at something, it sort of falls in through that hole. By making images or print larger, it gets too big to fall through that hole which, therefore, keeps the image visible."

"That's clever," as ever, Jesse was amazed at how Mark was able to take a complex idea and make it accessible to everyone. 

"I hope that Steve agrees with you," Mark chuckled.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Waking up the next morning, Steve lay in his bed with his hands linked behind his head looking up at the cracked ceiling of his room and he let his mind wander. Everyone kept telling him how well he was handling the situation and to a certain extent he agreed with them. However, there was a small corner of his mind which had remained stubbornly against any thoughts of the future. Well, he thought wryly to himself, the future was here and there was no getting away from it. He would, in a couple of months, no longer be able to drive and it was that, with all its implications for loss of independence, that Steve knew he would find the hardest.

A loud rumble from the region of his stomach reminded Steve that he hadn't eaten since the previous lunchtime. Getting up, he carefully made his way round the bed and into the small bathroom. It was there that Steve came across his first hurdle. At home, he had a shower that he was simply able to walk into but here the shower was set over the bath. Steve didn't relish the thought of stepping over the high rim of the bath when he was wet and possibly slipping because he couldn't see clearly. Instead, he contented himself with stripping off and standing in front of the hand basin to wash. It wasn't the same as a shower, but at least he knew he was clean. 

Leaving his room a little later, the first person to cross his path was the receptionist from the previous evening, Cindy.

"Good morning, Mr. Sloan," she said, the smile of pleasure on her face mirrored in the tone of her voice. 

"Hello," Steve replied.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked.

"I did," Steve answered, before asking, "Can you tell me where the closest place is for breakfast?"

"We have our own restaurant here. May I show you the way?" Cindy asked, holding up her right elbow in a mute offer of help.

For a second Steve hesitated. Accepting assistance was not his strong suit but, like the previous evening, he detected nothing in Cindy's voice but a genuine desire to help a patron in the best way she knew how.  He gently took hold of her elbow and said, "Lead the way."

Walking at a comfortable pace, Cindy kept up a constant flow of chatter occasionally interspersing that with a direction change. They eventually reached the restaurant and, leaving Steve at the door, Cindy moved off to continue with her morning routine. 

Forty five minutes later, his stomach nearly uncomfortably full, Steve made his way back to his room. Deciding that his dad would really begin to worry if he didn't ring him that morning, Steve sat down on his bed next to the phone. 

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Mark had woken up feeling sluggish and unrefreshed after an extremely restless night, which had been filled with dreams of Steve totally without sight and lost in a strange place. Hoping that an infusion of caffeine would help him, Mark pulled on the silk dressing gown which his son had bought for his last birthday and went into the kitchen. He poured himself a mug of coffee and then moved through the house, opened the large glass door and stepped out onto the deck.  He stood looking out over the ocean, occasionally taking a sip of a rapidly cooling beverage. He was halfway down the mug when the phone in the lounge began to ring.

Despite his advancing years, Mark was extremely agile and he had picked up the receiver before it had managed to sound out its third ring.

"Steve?" he asked, the tension which he had not allowed either Jesse or Amanda to see, evident in his voice.

"Yeah, Dad, it's me," Steve's voice came clearly down the line into Mark's grateful ear.

"Are you okay?" Mark couldn't restrain the fatherly expression of concern.

"I'm fine, Dad," Steve hastened to assure him.

"Where are you?" Mark asked. 

"I stayed the night at a motel along PCH," Steve replied, "and I'm just about to get going again."

"Where?" Mark hated that he seemed to be cross questioning his son, but he couldn't help it.

"I'm headed for a bay along the coast to do some whale watching." Steve answered. "I don't know how much longer I'll be able to do something like this on my own, so I'm taking the opportunity whilst I can."

"I understand, Son," Mark answered, "I saw your note and spoke to Jonathan."

"I have something else to tell you," Steve spoke quickly, as if wanting to get it over with as soon as possible, "I saw Captain Newman yesterday and started the process for a medical discharge."

"Oh, Steve," Mark replied, "Was there no alternative?"

"I could have stayed, Dad," Steve answered, "but it would have been a desk job in an office somewhere and I'm not sure that that is what I want."

"How do you feel?" Mark couldn't help asking, although this was a conversation that he would far rather be having face to face with his son.

"I'm not sure at the moment," Steve was honest, "that's why I need to get away for a while. To sort things out in my head."

Mark sighed silently. Whilst he understood that it was Steve's way to think personal things through on his own, there was a part of Mark that wished he'd talk to him a bit more. 

"Okay, Son." he spoke out loud, "Any idea how long you are going to be away?"

"Not really," Steve replied, "it'll be as long as I need. Don't worry, Dad, I am fine, honestly. I'll ring every couple of days, I promise?"

"Thanks," Mark replied, "Just take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will," Steve promised.

Replacing the receiver on its cradle, Mark made his way into his bedroom to get ready for work. He knew that he wouldn't be happy until his son came home, but he had to trust that Steve knew what he was doing. 

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Gathering his bags together, Steve shut the door behind him and walked round to the reception where he paid his bill. He was a little disappointed that he didn't see Cindy again but he thought he might stop off on the way home and say hi. Exiting through the large, sliding doors Steve walked to his car. Getting in, he started the engine and drove out of the car park and back onto PCH.

It took him longer than he thought to arrive at his final destination. It had been a while since he had driven such a long distance and his deteriorating eyesight meant that his concentration levels were much deeper. He'd had to take more rest stops than usual so, by the time he reached his destination, Steve was tired and with a throbbing headache. Once more, he booked in and went straight to bed to sleep the dreamless sleep of the exhausted.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

True to his word, Jonathan had turned up trumps with a pair of specially modified contacts. To make sure that they were right for him, Jesse had had an eye test and a couple of lessons on how to insert contacts as he had never worn them before. Unlike Steve, Jesse did not have a 'touching the eye' issue and he was very quickly able to put the contacts in correctly.

"I don't want Mark to know about this, Jonathan," he insisted.

"Any reason why not?" Jonathan asked, "This is an amazing thing you are doing, Jesse. You should be proud of it."

"I'm not doing anything special," Jesse replied.

Leaning back in his chair, when Jonathan spoke it was in a tone of genuine admiration, "Jesse, you are doing something which very few people would contemplate, let alone follow through on. Most would simply pick up a book; check out the Internet but as for going the extra mile that you are…. Jess, I think you are quite unique."

For a long while, Jesse was unable to speak, he wasn't sure that any sound would 

be able to get past the lump which had formed in his throat. Swallowing convulsively in order to dislodge it, he spoke softly, "That's generous of you, Jonathan, but I honestly don't see that I'm anything special."

Realising that Jesse was serious, Jonathan decided to slightly change tack.

"So what do you plan to do whilst you're wearing the contacts?"

"Just everyday things," Jesse replied, "Housework, cooking, a little shopping. Things that I would normally do on my day off."

"Will you do me a favour, Jess?" Jonathan asked, "Let me know how it goes?"

"Sure thing," Jesse answered and standing up, he continued, "Promise you won't tell Mark?"

"If that's what you want," Jonathan replied.

"I do. Thanks." Jesse slipped the small box containing the contacts into his pocket and left the office. A few minutes later he arrived in the ER and quietly got on with his shift.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

 Jesse held his right eye open with the forefinger and thumb of his left hand, whilst balanced on the identical finger on his right hand was a contact lens which he carefully placed over his iris. Blinking rapidly to clear his watering eye, Jesse picked up the other lens and repeated the operation. Looking up into the mirror Jesse was shocked at what he saw. From his research, he knew that his vision was going to be blurry, but he hadn't been prepared for how far that blurriness would extend. 

"Whoah!" he exclaimed. 

Turning away from the mirror, Jesse moved forward gingerly and immediately uttered a loud curse as his left shin came into sharp contact with something hard. 

"Dammit!" he yelled, tilting his head onto one side to find the cause of his pain.

Once the throbbing subsided, Jesse again walked forward although a little more cautiously this time. He made his way through the lounge into his kitchen and by the time he reached there, Jesse had come to the conclusion that at the end of the day, he was going to be covered in bruises. It had not occurred to him, even though he had seen Steve's apartment, to move his furniture around. 

Deciding that a coffee was what he needed right now, Jesse reached out for the jug from his percolator intending to fill it with water.  Unfortunately, the contacts caused his depth perception to be out of whack and the glass jug hit the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces. Once again, Jesse cursed. This was going to be harder than he had anticipated. Mentally he squared his shoulders, if Steve was going to be living this every day of his life then he, Jesse, could deal with it for a few hours. 

By the time he had cleared up the shards of the broken jug and managed to make himself a coffee in a mug, Jesse was feeling exhausted. He decided to sit down and watch the morning news on the television, a task which he found exceptionally difficult for the centre of the screen was hazy causing him to have to turn his head to one side to see the picture. After a few minutes of turning his head from one side to the other, Jesse became fed up and decided that he would go out. Standing up, he made his way slowly back into his bedroom for his jacket and shoes. Eventually reaching his front door, Jesse automatically put out a hand to grab his car keys. Halfway there he realised what he was doing and pulled his hand back with a grimace. He'd forgotten that he wouldn't be able to drive. Okay, he thought to himself, let's see what public transportation is like nowadays. 

It occurred to Jesse, on his slow progress along the sidewalk to the nearest bus stop, that Steve had had many months to adjust to his failing eyesight whilst he had gone from perfect eyesight to almost legally blind in as many seconds as it took to say it. He had also failed to think through to the necessity of having a stick to help him find his way.  Finally reaching the bus stop, Jesse found himself peering closely at the timetable attached to the pole. The next bus which would take him near enough to the shopping mall was due to arrive in ten minutes, so he stood back up and prepared himself for a wait. 

It was only a couple of minutes later when he heard a bus slowing to draw up at the stop. Jesse looked up at the number but was unable to read what it said. Feeling someone coming up to his shoulder to pass him, Jesse said, "Excuse me. Can you tell me what number this bus is please?"

A female voice answered, "It's the A9"

That wasn't the number Jesse needed and he stood back a little and was wondering how he was going to know when the correct bus came along when he heard a voice coming from the vicinity of his elbow. 

"What number bus is it that you need?"

Jesse turned in the direction of the voice and saw a vague outline which only reached his chest. The voice sounded young and Jesse concluded that it belonged to a teenager.

"I need the B12 going to the Lakeside Mall," Jesse replied.

"Me too," the voice answered, "I'll tell you when it arrives."

"Thank you," Jesse replied, "What's your name, by the way?"

"Andrew Wilshire," the young man replied, "but my friends call me Andy. What's yours?"

"Jesse."

"Can I ask you a question?" Andy continued.

"Fire away," Jesse answered. 

"Are you blind?"

"No, I'm not," Jesse answered.

"Then what is the matter with you?"

Jesse smiled, "I have got special contacts in so that I can see what it is like to have a vision problem."

Even though he couldn't see Andy clearly, Jesse could feel the frown on his face and waited for the next question.

"Are you doing it for a bet?" Andy asked.

"No," Jesse responded, "a very good friend of mine has a sight problem and I wanted to find out what it was like for him."

"Wow! You must like this guy a lot." Andy was mightily impressed.

"Yeah, I do," Jesse answered, "Him and his dad are the nearest thing I have to family."

"Don't you have parents of your own?" 

Jesse smiled, "Actually I do, but that is another story, Andy."

Not understanding what Jesse meant, Andy merely smiled.

As the bus pulled to a stop a few minutes later, Andy said, "Can I help you onto the bus, Jesse?"

"That is very kind of you," Jesse replied and Andy gently took his elbow, before guiding him up the steps onto the bus. 

By the time they reached the Lakeside Mall stop, Andy and Jesse were well on their way to being great friends. On finding out that Jesse was a doctor Andy, who had ambitions in that direction himself, plied him with question after question. He was only silenced when Jesse promised that he would arrange for a tour of Community General. 

"Do you need some help around the Mall?" Andy asked as they alighted from the bus sometime later.

The question took Jesse a moment to answer. There was a part of him that felt he ought to do it on his own, but there was another part which said that if he had someone to guide him around he would have some idea of how Steve would feel. 

But there was a question he needed to ask Andy first.

"Are you sure your Mom won't mind you doing this? After all, I am a perfect stranger."

"I don't have a Mom," Andy confided, "and since she died, my dad drinks a lot so he doesn't notice too much what I do."

Making a mental note to see what he could do for Andy, Jesse held out his arm again and the two of them began their trek around the mall.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Sitting in one on the many ice cream parlours later that day, Jesse and Andy happily shared a large banana split with all the trimmings. 

"So how long are you planning to wear those things, Jesse?" Andy asked.

"Just for today," he answered.

"Does your friend know what you are doing?" Andy persisted.

Jesse smiled to himself, for today he had discovered for himself what it was like to be on the receiving end of a constant barrage of questions. He was beginning to understand why Mark and Steve sometimes became a little irritated by him.

"No, he doesn't," Jesse answered, "and I am not sure whether I will tell him. Today was for me to find out what Steve will experience so that I can understand it a little better."

"What do you think he will say if he found out?"

"Ah," answered Jesse slowly and thoughtfully, "that will very much depend upon his mood at the time."

"Is he a bad tempered person?" Andy asked.

"No," Jesse replied, "it's just that Steve is a very proud man and doesn't always know how to accept help."

"Like my dad." Andy replied, with a maturity beyond his years. 

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Having returned home, with Andy in tow, Jesse took out the contacts with a feeling of great relief. He walked back out of his bathroom feeling a little disorientated at having his full vision again to find Andy standing out on his deck looking out over the ocean.

"Wow!" he exclaimed, "What a terrific view. How long have you lived here?"

"Nearly two years," Jesse answered, moving back into the lounge, "I guess I'd better get you home."

Reluctantly, Andy left the view and followed Jesse out to his car. 

As they were driving Jesse said, "Now, I want you to tell your dad about today and say that I will be giving him a call in a few days to arrange the tour that I promised you."

"He won't much care," Andy responded.

"Maybe not," Jesse replied, "but the fact remains that he is your father and he needs to know that I am not an axe murderer."

"Yeah, okay, whatever," Andy said, a complete lack of conviction in his voice. 

Pulling up outside Andy's apartment block, Jesse watched as his new young friend jumped out of the car and ran into the building. As Andy disappeared through the doors Jesse smiled to himself. It's funny, he thought, how a day starts out one way and ends in another. He had a feeling that he was going to be seeing a lot of Andy and that was something he was more than happy with. Still, whatever else happened he'd had a glimpse of what Steve would be dealing with for the rest of his life and that was more important to him than anything else. 

**_A/N I just wanted to say a big thank you to everyone who has taken the time and trouble to review this story so far.  They have been a great encouragement to me. I just wanted to say that the remainder of the story may be a little delayed as I have a couple of exams coming up in the next month and I need to concentrate on those. For those who know me – hooray for Heathcliff!! And for those who don't – I promise I AM sane!!     _**


	8. Chapter 8

A/N:  I am very sorry that this has taken so long to be posted. For some reason my brain went into hibernation after the exam and has only just woken up again. I hope that you like the chapter and I will do my best to see that it won't be so long before the next one is posted.

Chapter 8

The sun was well over the horizon before Steve woke the next morning. He lay, the wine red quilt pushed down to reveal his well muscled torso and exceptionally flat stomach, staring up at the ceiling his mind trying to remember what he had been dreaming about.  After a while though, he gave up trying to catch the tantalising wisps that had been his dream for he knew that the more he tried the less likely it was that he would remember. Throwing off the quilt, Steve padded to the bathroom to get ready for the day. The whale watching tour he was going on was later in the day because, to his amazement, he had been able to book a place the previous evening when he arrived at the hotel.

Breakfast eaten, Steve decided to go for a walk. The motel he had stopped at was only a few metres away from the beach and Steve made his way onto the golden sand. He had changed into a pair of denim cut-offs and a pale yellow vest top and he walked slowly along the sand, unaware of the many female admiring glances that were being cast his way.

One woman, a leggy blonde,looked up from the book she was reading. Tipping her sunglasses down her nose she peered over the top of them and pursed her lips in surprise.

"I don't believe it," she exclaimed quietly to herself.

Laying the book down, she uncurled herself from her chair and made her way across the sand towards the slowly retreating figure.

Steve, in a world of his own, did not hear the approaching woman and jumped when he felt a hand touching his arm.

"Steve?" a tentative voice spoke.

He turned towards the sound but, because she was standing so close, he was unable to clearly make out her features. There was a tantalising hint of familiarity to the voice and Steve frowned as he tried to place it whilst he took his, now customary, step backwards.

Puzzlement creased Randy's face, she couldn't figure out what was the mater with Steve. She knew that on their previous encounter she had irritated him, hell she irritated everyone, but she thought he had liked her a little. Steve's frown and his step backwards had thrown her a little.

"Lt. Sloan," she spoke a little more formally this time, "it's Randy Wolf, don't you remember me?"

"Randy!" Steve's happy exclamation cheered her somewhat, "I didn't recognise you just then."

"If you can't see me when I am standing this close," Randy joked, "maybe you ought to get your eyes tested."

When Steve didn't immediately come back with a pithy retort, Randy looked into his face and her smile faded.

"What's the matter, Steve?" she asked.

"I did have my eyes tested," Steve responded quietly.

"And……………?" Randy prompted, after a long pause.

"They found a serious problem," Steve answered, "it's called macular degeneration."

"What does that mean?" Randy asked.

"It means that, eventually, I will become legally blind."

Randy didn't know everything about Steve, but she was aware enough to realise that the surge of pity she felt needed to be ruthlessly suppressed. Hooking a hand round Steve's arm, she said,

"Let me buy you a coffee and you can tell me all about it."

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

"So," Randy said, a few minutes later, "what's going on?"

They were sitting, away from the hustle and bustle of the beach, on a huge rock each holding a large coffee. Taking a large gulp from his, Steve told Randy everything that had been happening over the past couple of years. To Steve's surprise, his story included a great deal about his feelings over that period. He spoke about things that hadn't told anyone else, some things that he hadn't even internally verbalised. When Steve finally fell silent, Randy looked at him.

"So what do you intend doing with yourself?" she asked.

"I don't know," Steve's answer was succinct.

"You must have had some thoughts," Randy persisted.

Steve could feel the tension building across his shoulders and up the back of his neck, a feeling he clearly recalled from his previous encounter with Randy. It was an episode from which he had barely escaped with his badge intact. He sighed, knowing that Randy was not the sort of person to give up easily.

"Randy," he said, taking another sip of his coffee, "I've been too busy coming to terms with my decreasing eyesight."

Randy snorted inelegantly.

"Bull," she said, "you've been wallowing."

"I have _not_ been wallowing." Steve snapped. "I have been living my live, taking everything day by day."

"Yeah, that's what I said," Randy answered, "wallowing. You have been using the _'day by day'_ mantra to avoid thinking about the future."

Steve couldn't think of anything to say and Randy continued on into the silence.

"So, what are you doing here?" she asked.

"My doctor tells me that I will have to give up my drivers licence soon," Steve began, "so I decided to take a solo trip while I still can."

"Steve," Randy protested a little, "you are still going to be able to see."

"I know," he replied, "but once my licence is gone I'm not going to be able to just take off whenever I want."

"So, you won't be able to be Mr. Spontaneity anymore," Randy said, "not that I recall it being a prominent part of your personality before."

Despite himself, Steve smiled. He had forgotten Randy's propensity for cutting through, as she had so delicately classed it, the 'bull'.

"Maybe you're right," he acknowledged.

"I know I am! I know I am!" Randy responded, irritatingly smug, "So what are you planning to do whilst you are here?"

"This afternoon I am going on a whale watching trip," Steve answered, "but after that….I haven't planned anything."

"Great!" Randy enthused, "we can spend some time together and begin to sort out what you are going to do with the rest of your life."

Realising that he had more chance of getting out of the way of a tidal wave, Steve mentally gave up and smiled.

"Shall we have dinner tonight?" Randy continued, determined not to let Steve off the hook.

"I look forward to it," Steve replied, "7.30 at the motel entrance okay?"

"Great," Randy stood, bent down and gave Steve a gentle kiss on the cheek, "I'll see you later."

Steve continued to sit on the rock long after Randy had disappeared. As much as he hated to admit it, Randy had made a lot of sense. Whilst he didn't totally agree with her assessment that he had been wallowing he had, to a certain extent, been using the 'day to day' as a way of not thinking about the future. Well, the future was here and he had run out of excuses. Looking at his watch, Steve realised that if he was going to make his boat trip, he needed to get moving. Standing up, he began walking in the direction of the motel.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Much later, tired but exhilarated, Steve entered his motel room still slightly damp from the ocean and whale plumes. For many years he had promised himself a whale watching trip and it had lived up to all his expectations. The large female, and her new calf, had lain motionless on the surface of the ocean, giving everyone in the boat a chance to touch them both. Steve had been concerned that, with his failing eyesight, he would have some difficulties. It hadn't occurred to him that, because of their vast size, whales would not 'disappear' through his central vision.

Dropping his camera bag onto his bed, Steve continued on into the bathroom shedding his clothes as he went. When he had booked in, he had been pleased to find a shower rather than a bath. Although he had been able to have a decent wash at the last motel he still preferred a shower, he felt cleaner. Stepping into the cubicle, he pulled the Perspex door closed behind him and turned on the water. The strong jet of water hit his skin and cascaded down his body, following the contours of his hips and down his legs to run between his toes before disappearing down the drain. Closing his eyes, Steve turned around and around until every particle of skin was wet, before lathering himself with his favourite shower gel.  Clean, he repeated his slow pirouette under the water making sure that no stray scrap of lather remained. Turning the water off, Steve stepped out of the shower and wrapped a large towel around his waist before moving back into the bedroom to dry off.  Looking at his watch, Steve saw that he still had an hour before he was due to meet Randy so he decided that he may as well take the time to recruit his strength. He'd need all his energy to cope with whatever Randy had to throw at him.

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

Laughter rang out across the restaurant and many of the other diners looked around to see who was making the joyous sound. They saw a beautiful blonde laughing at something her companion, a handsome, well tanned man, had just said to her.  Smiling, they all turned back to their meals.

"Oh, Steve," Randy fought hard to regain her composure, "I just cannot imagine Jesse doing that."

"Trust me, Randy," Steve replied wiping his own, laughter stained, eyes, "It took days to get the colour out of his hair. He had to spend three night shifts looking like Ronald MacDonald."

As their laughter died away, Randy's eyes took on a more serious tone.

"So, Sloan," she said, "you have spent the whole meal regaling me with tales of your dad, Jesse and Amanda, but nothing about you or what has been happening to you."

Steve sighed, he should have known that he would not be able to get through the entire evening without the third degree. Concisely, without any emotion, he detailed the events of the past couple of years. From the accident at Jesse's, through his initial diagnosis, ending with his last meeting with Jonathan and his trip.When he finished speaking, for a short while there was silence whilst Randy marshalled her thoughts.  Locking eyes with Steve, Randy said to him,

"Steve, that was almost like listening to you talk about someone else. It was clinical, impersonal."

"What do you want from me, Randy?" Steve was niggled that, as always, she had managed to hit the nail right on the head.

He had been clinical, it was the only way that he had been able to cope over the past few months. He knew that it looked to the outside world that he was coping and, on a certain level, he was. But in order to be able to cope, he had locked his fear away in a small corner of his brain and kept a 24/7 guard just in case someone tried to use the key. Not only had Randy found the key, but she had sneaked past him and, if he wasn't careful, she would have the door unlocked and his fear would be free.

"I want you to be honest about how you feel," she responded.

_Clink._

Steve heard the key turn in the lock and the door opened. Tears, totally unlike those of a few moments ago, formed in his eyes and he whispered,

"I'm scared, Randy."

"What of?" Randy opened the door a little further.

"Of going blind."

"But you told me that you would still have some sight," Randy continued.

"But I can't be a cop anymore, Randy," Steve said, "and being a cop is all I have ever known."

"So?" Randy was terse, "Plenty of people have a mid-life career change. What's stopping you?"

"I've never wanted to be anything else," Steve answered.

"That's no answer. Try again."

Restraining an impulse to get up and walk away, Steve looked across the table at the woman in front of him.

"I honestly don't know, Randy," he said, "I haven't given it much thought."

"Then think about it now. What do you like doing?"

"Surfing. Riding my motorcycle. Two things that will really be enhanced by having restricted vision." Steve responded, somewhat sarcastically.

Unfortunately the sarcasm did not, as he had hoped, shut Randy up.

"Hmm, a show of emotion. Maybe there's hope for you yet, Sloan. Okay, let's try another tack. What part of police work did you enjoy the most?"

"Catching the bad guys," Steve's irritation with Randy causing him to resort to a somewhat childlike expression.

"The actual physical act of catching them? You know running them to ground or the fact that, once convicted, they were off the streets and paying for their crimes?"

This time it was Steve's turn to be silent. In all the years that he had been a cop, no-one had ever asked him to analyse his choice of profession.

"I guess," he said eventually, "I like knowing that I have made a difference, that I have helped someone begin the healing process after a loved one is murdered. Yeah, I like knowing that I have made a difference."

"Okay, this is good, now we are getting somewhere." Randy said, "So is being a cop the only profession where you can make a difference?"

"Of course not," Steve answered, "My dad makes a difference in people's lives every single day."

"So……….."

"I'm a bit too old to become a doctor, even if I wanted to. Which I don't," Steve replied.

"Well, duh!" Randy's response was delightfully inelegant.

There was a welcome pause in the conversation provided by a waiter bringing their desserts, two huge ice cream sundaes. Finishing his first, Steve placed his spoon in the dish and sighed.

"It's a long time since I had one of those. We don't serve them at Bobs."

This was something that Randy hadn't heard about, "Bobs?" she questioned.

Steve explained how he and Jesse had bought Bobs after Caitlin Sweeney's bombing of Community General and how well the restaurant was doing.

"Sounds to me like you have a pretty good thing going outside of the force already," Randy commented.

"I don't know, Randy," Steve answered thoughtfully," but, if you will pardon the pun, you have given me a lot of food for thought."

"I won't charge a fee this time," Randy joked, reaching out to take Steve's hand and was a little shocked when he pulled it abruptly away, "What's up?"

"Nothing," Steve denied.

"Yeah, right." Randy answered, "That wasn't a 'nothing' , that was _definitely _ a something. Give, Sloan."

Steve didn't answer, he simply looked down at the empty sundae dish. A flash of inspiration struck Randy.

"Steve, "she spoke softly, continuing only when Steve raised his eyes to hers, "how long is it since you made love?"

Again there was a long silence, broken only by the sound of their joint breathing before Steve answered, "I haven't slept with anyone since I was diagnosed."

"Oh, Steve," and it was the tone in Randy's voice that finally broke through Steve's carefully built defences.

Tears came, again, unbidden to his eyes and a solitary one escaped to run down his cheek. Quickly, Randy pulled him out of his chair and only pausing long enough to leave money to pay the bill, she guided him out of the restaurant. 

Her arm firmly tucked around Steve's waist, Randy steered him in the direction of his room. As Steve opened the door, Randy began to pull her arm away but he stopped her, saying,

"Don't go, Randy, please. I don't want to be alone."

Randy looked up into his eyes, not quite sure of what he was asking.

"Stay with me," Steve spoke again, reaching out and cupping her softly flushing face in one of his large hands, "I want you to stay with me."

"I don't want to stay if this is out of self-pity," she answered not moving a muscle, although it cost her a great deal not to, "If I stay, it will be because it is what we both want."

For a long time Steve didn't speak, then he leaned down and covered her lips with his in a kiss that was so gentle and yet so full of yearning. Randy threw all her reservations about staying out of the window and wound her arms around Steve's muscular torso.  Eventually lifting his head, Steve took hold of Randy's hand and they moved through the opening into the room. The only sound heard was the _click _of the door as it closed behind them.


End file.
